Death's Avenger
by KatHarkness-Katara
Summary: Harry Potter wakes to find his entire world is no more. Tasked by Death herself with the protection of his new world, Harry must guard and guide the footsteps of the mighty Avengers. Adopted from Kyle-ZZ. No slash. Follows movies.
1. Prologue: In Transit

**Death's Avenger Prologue In Transit**

When Harry Potter awoke, he was once again slightly confused and couldn't help wondering whether or not it would be for the final time that night. The last thing he remembered was catching the Elder Wand, and Voldemort's shrivelled corpse hitting the ground. Given the amount of magical energy their final duel had called up, it was not inconceivable he'd been thrown back and knocked out; but surely then he'd be revived with a simple _Enervate_ while still in the entrance hall, and not lying on a bed. A rather comfortable bed at that.

Keeping his eyes closed to maintain the illusion of unconsciousness in case of unfriendly watchers, Harry pondered whether his friends were letting him sleep (possible); the remaining Death-Eaters had seized him (less likely); or some other faction had intervened. With the lack of vision, he was reduced to having to try to take in the sounds of his surrounding to hazard whether or not he was in immediate danger. All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing; beyond that, nothing. Just unnatural silence.

When he realised listening would not provide enough information, he slowly cracked open an eye.

The first thing he did was suppress a wince as he was assaulted by the bright light of the room he was in. Blinking rapidly, he gradually became accustomed and finally took in his surroundings. Initially he registered a lack of colour in the room; everything was white, from the floor to the ceiling, even in rumpled bed sheets he lay on. The only light came from a single source in the ceiling - no windows, just artificial light. Harry tried to digest where exactly he was – a hospital of some sort? It was implied in the setting of the room, with the sterile smell all healing environments seemed to have. He slowly sat up, pressing his back against the wall to support himself, deep in thought.

So, a hospital was the where; now to figure out the how. He noticed for the first time the plain white nightwear he was clad in. Combined with the electric light, it confirmed hospital – _muggle_ hospital at that. Why he would be in one of these, considering the vast disdain most wizard felt at the mere suggestion of muggle medicine, he had no idea.

'_What the __**hell**__ am I going to do?'_ Harry knew the first thing he had to do was find out exactly where he was and how to contact the Order. At that moment he realised he didn't have the one possession he most needed – a wand; not the Elder Wand, not Draco's hawthorn, not even his sadly broken holly. Sighing with defeat, Harry swung his legs out of bed, rising to his feet, stumbling a little before making his way over to the door. Quickly pressing his ear to the cold metal door, he once again tried to make out any sounds outside, the locked door making it feel like a cell.

At last he heard the very faint sound of footsteps, along with a squeaking of wheels reminiscent of the Hogwarts Express food trolley. Panic filled his chest as he made a mad dash back to the small bed in the corner, lying down and shutting his eyes. The sounds became louder until he could tell the person (whoever it was) had stopped right outside the door. The jingling of keys acted as warning before the door was flung open. There was a slight pause before the person entered, trolley seemingly forgotten, footsteps coming closer and closer.

Harry fought to stay as still as possible, fear and panic making him want to escape, and mastering it.

"Harry Potter…" Harry resisted the shiver creeping down his back at the sound of his name, made into a mysterious whisper, and did not respond. "I know you aren't asleep, Harry. Sit up so I can speak to you." The female voice (accent unidentifiable) sounded slightly frustrated at his lack of immediate acknowledgement.

Slowly, fear making him a little shaky, he sat up, eyes opening to view the nurse before him.

The nurse's uniform was not like the scrubs Harry had seen on TV at the Dursleys', but an old-fashioned white dress that reached her knees, showing off a perfect hourglass figure. Her hair was a cascade of rich mahogany curls highlighting ivory skin. Her cheeks were accented by one small freckle, her lips the colour of fresh blood on snow. But her eyes were most striking; pure black, from lid to lid. Not human.

She was mystery and seduction in female form.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, finally finding his voice, shifting slightly under the watchful stare.

"You could say I'm a close friend, Harry. We have known each other for a long time, maybe not in the sense most know each other, but I touched you at a young age. Let's just say that leaves an impression." As she spoke, her lips curled into a not-terribly-reassuring smile.

"You never answered; who are you?" His fear slowly turned to frustration as the woman's smile became condescending. "Where am I? What is this place? Please, I need to leave, I need to find my friends!" He found himself shouting, internally pleading for her to give him his answers.

"Who I am can wait. All you need to know right now is that you can consider yourself safe," she stated, taking a few steps towards him, dark eyes staring hungrily at his form.

"I haven't got time for this! My friends could still be in danger. Help me get out, please!" No _way_ all the Death-Eaters would give up easily.

"You don't have to worry about your friends, Harry. They're gone." There was no change in her tone, as though the loss of all Harry loved most was no different to the weather.

Denial was the first emotion, followed by utter disbelief. Ron and Hermione _couldn't_ be dead. This had to be some sort of ploy. He sprang forwards, trying to escape.

But before he managed two steps, he was thrown back onto the bed, pinned by an invisible force.

"Now that wasn't very nice, Harry. Here we were, having a nice conversation, and you ruin it by running." She carded her fingers through his hair, ignoring his heated glare when he couldn't squirm away. "Don't be angry, Harry. No-one survived the war. Well, no one was alive for the war." Harry stared uncomprehending as the nurse sat on the edge of the bed, watching. "You see, this is a different world. There's no Voldemort, no Death-Eaters. But nor is there Dumbledore, or Ron, or Hermione. The world you knew no longer exists."

Harry didn't understand at all what she was talking about. How can they not exist?

"I can tell you're confused, but you don't have to accept it yet. You just need to know. The rules of life and death were bent too much. My sister Order put her foot down. The others agreed. Brother Time helped me stall. I was able to rescue you before the entity Galactus destroyed your world. You were the only one I could retrieve. Can you think why that is?"

It was almost more than he could take. Trying to stave off the near insanity from being told what he'd lost, he focused on the question. What could have saved him this time? No get-out-of-death-free blood protection this time... "The Deathly Hallows," he breathed at last.

"Yes, the Hallows. Well done, Harry." Her praise sounded almost genuine. "The Wand, Stone, and Cloak. You mastered all three, and sealed your ownership when you took the wand. These items are the cause of your survival and presence in this world."

She rose, and returned dragging the trolley. On top were the items they'd been discussing. "This is a different world, Harry, with different rules, different residents. These saved you, allowed me to act, but if the others knew, they'd destroy you. There's so much to explain, but there's no time. I have to keep these out of anyone else's hands." She shook her head and laughed. "I should resent your very existence, but I can't help myself…"

She placed the Wand, Stone and Cloak on his chest, and pushed them into it. Pain spread throughout, and Harry slipped into unconsciousness, only just catching the last word.

"…Master."

**AN: This prologue was largely written by Kyle-ZZ. From hereon in, it'll be my own work.**

**I hope you like it. Chapter 1 will be in a few weeks.**

**People who haven't read my works before: I update every Monday, and have just increased to three chapters. I mostly work on my Batman stuff, and have added a new rotation of a number of my other works.**

**Regular readers of my stuff: Also this week, Flashback and Black and Red. Next week, LBV, Flashback and the first chapter of a Harry Potter/Rise of teh Guardians fic: The Rise of Harry Potter.**

**Please review, first-timers and experienced readers.**

**Katara**


	2. Chapter 1: Waking to the World

**Death's Avenger Chapter 1 Waking to the World**

Harry blinked slowly, languidly. When he'd awoken two days ago, he'd found himself no longer in the hospital, but in a wizard tent similar to the one he, Ron and Hermione had spent the better part of the last year in. Resting on – not in – his chest had been the three Hallows. Harry's first action had been to throw them across the bedroom.

When he'd finally mustered the strength to rise, he found a seven-chamber trunk, like Mad-Eye Moody's, waiting for him. The first held clothes, both muggle and robes. The second, what appeared to be half Hogwarts' library. The third had a cauldron, ingredients and some more complex potions pre-mixed. In the next chamber, various pieces of equipment; scales, telescope, sneakoscope, even a time-turner. And Draco's hawthorn and unicorn hair wand. The wand in particular, and to a lesser extent the time-turner, had felt like a punch to the chest. He'd half-intended have a chat with the blond Slytherin about the wand; after all, he _had_ taken it from its original owner, and thus won the duel. The fifth chamber had more personal belongings, such as his photo album, two-way mirror shard, Snitch, Firebolt and holly and phoenix feather wand. _This_ one left him breathless. These few trinkets were all that remained of the life he had lived, and the people he had known and loved. It also had numerous rolls of parchment, quills, ink pots, and muggle notebooks, pens and pencils. The sixth was full of crockery, cutlery and cooking equipment. But the seventh…

The seventh held a suit of basilisk skin armour, fitted with silver and glittering with the occasional ruby. It was topped with a Grecian-style helm, and the sword of Godric Gryffindor.

Harry had slammed the lid, stumbled back, and collapsed onto the bed.

Whatever the woman wanted to him, it seemed to be something martial. He'd just come from a war; why would she think he would go straight into another; in a world not his own, for a people he did not owe, against a foe he did not begrudge, for a cause he did not believe in? All he wanted was his friends…

And so he'd fallen into blackest melancholy, not even finding the energy to eat.

By this point, all he could do was stare at the roof, lost in bittersweet memories.

"Oh, Harry, have you given up already?"

His eyes slowly slid round, fixing on the woman who'd 'rescued' him. "Given up what?" he asked sullenly. "All hope of a normal life? All hope of seeing my friends again? Having anything to live for? Why _shouldn't_ I give up?"

The woman pulled up a chair and sat. "You should eat," she told him. "You'll feel better with a full stomach."

She made a gesture, and a steaming flask appeared in mid-air. She caught it, and thrust it at him. Harry sat up, taking it without thinking, astounded by what he'd seen. "B-but," he stuttered. "Gamp's Law…"

"Doesn't apply to me," the woman said. "Drink the soup."

Harry took a swig, still staring. It was completely tasteless, with floating filaments of – something. "How is it?" the woman asked anxiously, the tone of voice making her seem more _human_ than last time. Seeing the look on his face, she sighed. "I've done it again, haven't I? Be honest."

He swallowed. "What's in it, exactly?" he asked evenly.

She grimaced. "Meant to be chicken. I can never get the flavour. Texture, yes, but…"

Harry gulped more of the bland concoction, finishing the flask under her gaze. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Can't you guess, Master?" she asked.

Harry took in the pure black eyes, and, again, the title 'Master'. "You're Death," he said slowly.

"Yes," she said simply.

"I thought you'd be…uh…"

"Male?" she shrugged. "As different cultures form new gods or goddesses of death, so I am reincarnated. I've been Anubis, Hades, Pluto…my most recent happened to be female."

"Oh." Harry considered for a moment. "What does it mean to be Master of Death?"

"Have you heard of indentured servitude?" Death asked. Harry shook his head. "It's sometimes considered to be a form of slavery, but it was in many circumstances a way out of poverty. The servant would work, and the master would provide protection that the servant couldn't have alone."

"So…you need protection?" Harry asked, confused.

"What happened to your world should not have happened," explained Death. "So many lives truncated…it sets a dangerous precedent. This world…it's approaching a crisis point. My brothers and sisters, Time, Order, Fortune, Retribution, Wisdom, they'll all be quicker to draw the line. The One above us all, who rejoices in mortals' triumphs and weeps at their grievances, does not take away our choice. Our mistakes are _ours_ to make. One has been made in dealing with your world, and may yet be repeated. I do not wish this to happen."

"Where do I come in?" Harry asked. "Do you want me to speak to your family?"

"No, they'd smite you for your presumption," Death replied. "You see, in order to reap the souls of the dead, I have a sense of the shape of things – how events affect circumstances and such. I see that, coming up, there are several events that could be the tipping point that prompts Order to suggest obliteration, again. I can also tell there are several people who will shape these events. I'm asking you to act among these people, to give them the best possible chance of preventing the kind of disruption to the fundamentals Voldemort caused."

"How will I know where to go?"

"I can guide you, Harry. But you need to live, not just waste away in this tent. I can advise you with that, too. But Master, I'm begging you. Help me save this world from the fate I could not prevent befalling your world."

Looking at the force of nature in the form of an earnest young woman, Harry had no doubt what his answer was. After all, he had nothing else, no friends to protect, no life to live, no dream to strive for. What the hell; why not?

**AN: Ugh. I am so tired of being late. Here's hoping it's not so bad next week.**

**Hope I've answered some of your questions.**

**Also this week: the next chapters of Family Ties and Little Bird's Vengeance.**

**Next week: more Family Ties, more LBV, and the next chapter of Rise of Harry Potter.**

**See you soon,**

**Katara**


	3. Chapter 2: Getting Started

**Death's Avenger Chapter 2 Getting Started**

"Agent Barton!" Phil Coulson called out across the training room.

"Sir?" the blonde arched said, relaxing his bow and returning his arrow to the quiver.

"My office," the senior agent instructed.

Clint nodded. "One moment," He hurried down the shooting range, gathered his arrows, and rejoined his handler.

Phil led the way through the facility to a relatively large office complete with desk, visitors' chairs, filing cabinets and no sign it belonged to anyone other than a civil service bureaucrat other than a map of the world tacked to the wall.

"Barton, you have a new assignment," Phil started, sitting in his chair while gesturing his junior to another. "I believe you have already encountered the target."

Clint took the proffered file and glanced at the profile picture – slightly grainy, taken from a distance. "The Black Widow," he said. "Yeah, I've met her before."

"And she let you go."

"She didn't have any reason to terminate me." Clint reminded Phil sharply. "Nor I her."

"Of course," Phil acknowledged. "But she has become too indiscriminate in her choice of target. She must be stopped."

"I understand," Clint said, starting to read the file."

* * *

Harry James Potter, formerly of Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, formerly of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, formerly of Number Twelve, Grimauld Place, London, closed the door to his café/bakery at the end of the working day and sighed. He pulled his wand from his sleeve, muttered a few words, and the blinds descended and the shop tidied itself.

The first week after he'd decided to _live_ in this world, he'd lived out of his tent while trying to procure papers to verify his existence. It took some time, and advice from Death, to find a forger willing to accept payment in gold bullion.

Then he'd had to convert more Galleons into muggle cash, open a bank account, find a place to live, choose what business to run on the small shop below…

He'd always loved baking at the Durselys' (if not having to watch _them_ eat it) and, after examining the popular chains like Starbucks, had bought a coffee machine to supplement his menu

The Elder Wand, which felt too martial in his hands, had proved powerful enough to restore his holly and phoenix feather wand, which had hardly left his grasp since.

He moved to the kitchen, flicked his wand, and the warming charms on a dozen trays of cakes and pastries fell. Another flick, and they were banished into a stasis cabinet that worked like a fridge, but without cooling the contents (made from an old fridge, too). A _scourgify_ cleaned the oven, and another charm set the dishes and pans to washing themselves.

This evening, as every evening, he'd prepare the pastry and dough, ready to be baked first thing in the morning. The combination of spells ensured the 'freshly-baked' taste was maintained, but despite all the charms and enchantments, everything was handmade, and tasted it.

Harry pulled out a large mixing bowl, dropped the ingredients in and started mixing. He was so absorbed in the task he scarcely noticed someone enter behind him.

"Master," said the voice, and Harry turned to see Death standing in his kitchen.

"Milady," he said, nodding in response. "What brings you here?"

"Always so formal, Master?" Death sighed.

"Forgive me for being uncomfortable calling you Death." Harry replied disdainfully. "If you have something to say, say it." He resumed kneading.

"Two of our people of interest have surfaced and will encounter each other in three days' time. If the encounter goes unfavourably, they will kill each other."

"And we can't have that," Harry nodded. He pulled his hands out of the mixing bowl and rinsed them before picking up his wand and casting some stasis charms. "So what do I need to know?" he asked, hopping up to perch on the counter.

"This is Natalia Romanova," Death said. An illusory image appearing above her hand. "She's an assassin and a spy by trade. Since the fall of the USSR, she's been a freelance mercenary. She has sent a lot of people to my embrace, and does not fear my touch." The image changed. "Clint Barton. Raised in a circus, trick shots with a bow and arrows. Went into the security industry and then joined an organization called the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division, SHIELD. He also works as an assassin. Romanova goes by the codename 'Black Widow'; Barton by 'Hawkeye'. Barton has been sent to eliminate Romanova. They meet in Budapest in three days. Romanova was approached with a contract to destroy an orphanage in a simulated gas explosion. She refused and killed the contact. She's going to try to prevent the explosion, and didn't hide her tracks so her would-be employer would know she's coming. Barton will follow her. He will assume she is the one setting the explosion and kill her, unless you can get her to show him that she is defending the children."

"Now that's a new challenge," Harry mused. "Will it help if I disguise myself, or should I be overt in my presence?"

"Disguise; and try to avoid notice," Death decided. "SHIELD is…complicated."

"I've got three days," Harry said bluntly. "You'll have to tell me later."

**AN: I debated for a long time whether to have Harry involved Natasha's recruitment, and finally decided to do so. More on this strand next chapter. Feel free to send me your guesses as to why Death is counselling Harry to avoid SHIELD.**

**Also this week: more Marvel in Little Bird's Vengeance and a slightly different pair of Bats in Flashback. Next week, more Flashback, more LBV, and the next installment of Rise of Harry Potter.**

**IMPORTANT NOTICE: I have updated my profile to include a new opportunity for all my readers to get in contact with me via social media. Please check it out.**

**Finally, please review.**

**Katara**


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